Roxy Harte (2 page)

Except now, she isn’t a very nice girl and she plays with sadists.

No fainting allowed in this story.

The cab driver stood beside the rear passenger door, holding it open, waiting, his kind-hearted if impatient smile wavering with each second I sit in the chair. I wadded the discharge papers tighter, twisting them and untwisting them. Garrett wasn’t there. Thomas wasn’t there either. I wasn’t surprised.

My life has never been a fairytale.

“Easy honey,” the nurse took my elbow, lifting. I stood on solid ground for the first time in three days, with the exception of the four-foot shuffle to the bathroom. Wobbly, not from lack of strength as the nurse assumes, but because of the decision I have to make. Settling in the backseat, I waited for the cab driver to climb behind the wheel. He pulled away from the curb without a word.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where to take me?”

“I have the address, ma’am. Just sit back and relax, I’ll have you home real quick.”

I cringed at the use of ma’am, knowing it would happen someday, I must really look my age, or the title is a reflection of his upbringing. “You’re fromKentucky ,” I guessed.

“Yes, ma’am, yes I am.” He grinned big in his rearview mirror, going for eye contact. I didn’t give him any. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess,” I answered, not willing to divulge that I too grew up inKentucky , my upbringing over and past, no looking back, no longer wondering if my father is okay. Once, I used to wonder if he was even still alive—he was old when I left, older now—or dead.
I don’t care.
I really don’t, I told myself, wiping away a tear. “Exactly what address are you taking me to?” I asked, though his answer really wasn’t necessary, by the route he took, I knew exactly where we were going. He was taking me home.

Not Garrett’s.

Not Thomas’s.

Just as well, I was in no shape to be mastered by anyone. Exhausted just from the trip across town, I was more than ready to crawl between my sheets and sleep rather than be tied up and spanked.

Ask anyone who has recently been there, the hospital is no place to catch up on rest, five a.m. wake up, six a.m. sponge bath, seven a.m. doctor rounds, eight a.m. breakfast and the night shift, good lord. Did I really need my vitals taken every hour—all night long? Definitely not a place to rest.

* * * *

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Climbing the four steps to the large wrap-around porch, I noticed first, there were no newspapers, someone had cleared the porch, and second, my front door was standing wide open. Windows, too, open, as if someone was inside purposely airing out my house for my arrival. The someone in question worried me enough for me to drag myself to the porch swing and sit, worrying the edge of a plumped, frilly pillow, too exhausted to face an intruder if there was one. Not curious enough to see which man waited for me, if not an intruder.

“Girl! Get yourself in here! I see you out there—don’t you think I don’t.”

Jackie.
Garrett’s best friend and my newly entrusted confidante. She awed me the very first time I met her. She wasn’t what I expected, but then I could never have been prepared for her in all her glory. I knew immediately that she was a man, or had been a man at one time, I think. I’ve never really been brave enough to ask, just accepted Jackie for who Jackie is.

Oh hell
and
thank God
passed through my brain simultaneously.

She opened the screen door, holding it open for me, looking me up and down as I approached. “You look a little worse for wear. I sent the boys to the market for a few things. Lord have mercy, your refrigerator was empty! I say we start with a glass of my famous Southern Lemonade, if it doesn’t cure what ails ya’, it’ll sure make ya’ forget the pain!” She laughed, pulling me in for a big hug, towering over me, well over six-and-a-half feet tall, probably closer to seven feet with the spikes she always wears, her natural beauty overwhelming. She is dark-skinned, a pure, deep russet, with almond-shaped brown eyes, made even larger and more dramatic by her always-present false eyelashes. Her full, sensual lips are artistically lined and filled with a slick, glossy lipstick. Her wig was a multitude of long, burgundy braids caught and bound in a loose knot, a more casual look than I’d ever seen on Jackie, but a hairstyle that complemented the exotic, brightly colored caftan that reached to her brightly painted toes.

She wrapped around me, cradling me, making me feel six again, held like my mother held me when I’d skin my knee and I’d run to her crying and she would grab me and hold me tight, my face buried against her breasts. Then, a kiss and a Band-Aid were a miracle cure.

Hugged, pulled into the house, with a very strong, heavily spiked lemonade in hand, I felt better, not great, but definitely better. At least until she demanded, “Now, before they get back, I want you to tell me just what in the hell is going on! Why on earth would you agree to let Lord Fyre master you? Are you insane, girl? Lord, lord, whatever were you thinking. Sit and spill.” She sat on my overstuffed sofa, patting the faded floral print, indicating for me to sit beside her.

God, I really needed new furniture, not because it’s faded and threadbare, that was once the charm for me, but because after seeing the ultra-chic, ultra modern furnishings at Garrett’s, mine are grotesquely grandmotherly in comparison.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Start with why Garrett is suddenly not man enough for you,” she demanded bluntly. “And what Lord Fyre has to do with this?”

“Jackie, I told you to leave her alone.” Garrett’s warning growl came from the other side of the screen door. Looking up, I saw he had his arms loaded down with paper grocery bags, each overflowing.

Racing from the couch, smiling ear to ear, I was glad it was he on the other side of the screen. I couldn’t get the door open fast enough, pushing between the weighted bags to press against his chest, his soft, well-worn T-shirt a comfort against my cheek, citrusy and breezy all at once.

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“I’ve missed you,” I whispered.

He planted a kiss on top of my head. “I missed you, too.”

Kitten.
I heard the endearment in my head, even though from his mouth my pet name wasn’t spoken.

The weight of its loss pulled at my heart.

I didn’t look up into his face, though I longed to look into his eyes, I couldn’t Not wanting to see if they were the same mesmerizing blue that had lured me in so recently, or whether they were darkened with anger, fear, jealousy…or a million other possible emotions—one of which prevented him from calling me Kitten.

I kissed the spot on his chest bared by the V-neckline of his silk T-shirt. He was tanner than I remembered, but then it was July and I hadn’t seen much of him since May. Against the healthy glow of his cheek, my hand appeared ghost white.

“Easy, Celia. Bags!”

Jackie scooted in behind me, taking the bags from Garrett so that he could properly take me into his arms, his mouth lowering to claim mine, his arms wrapping around my waist to lift me off the ground, making me squeal in a very girly way. Lowering my feet back to the ground, he pulled away, but I followed him, refusing to release his mouth from the kiss he initiated, kissing him passionately with the fierceness of desperation. I couldn’t bear to release him, because I honestly didn’t know what the next moment would bring, our relationship a thrill ride since we’d first met. I, the slave on stage being auctioned, he the master of ceremony, who also just happened to be my purchaser, for the unheard of sum of a quarter of a million dollars. The sum seemed astronomical, even, upon reflection, exorbitant. I feel so much less worthy now than then, and even that night, I wasn’t worth what he paid.

I was an undercover reporter, hell-bent on an exposé that would further my career. He was the innocent bystander who stood to lose an empire if my then boss, Mr. Bosko, had his way. It was only after awakening in the hospital that the entire truth was made clear. Mr. Bosko would have killed me if Garrett hadn’t arrived to rescue me in time.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid, after what was s-said in the hospital, after you removed my collar and left, that you wouldn’t—that I wouldn’t…God, you’re here! You’re really here, at my house!

You’ve never been in my house.”

“Sh-h, Kitten, just let me hold you,” he whispered against my face, holding me as if he might never let go.

I did cry then, hearing the endearment I longed to hear. Lifting my chin, he looked into my face, wiping tears away with his thumbs as fast as they fell.

“Don’t cry, Kitten, I won’t be able to bear letting you go if you cry.”

“You called me Kitten,” I sobbed in explanation.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I know better.”

“Please don’t stop, I am yours, I don’t want to go away from you.”

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“Yes, you do. I shouldn’t be here. It’s why I stayed away from the hospital—it doesn’t have to be this hard.” Pulling me into his arms, he hugged me tight, whispering, “I will be waiting for you when you are ready for Lord Fyre to release you.”

“I heard my name?” his voice asked from the other side of the screen, as if on cue.

Lord Fyre.

Oh shit!

It was easier when we were in the hospital, Thomas talking to me, friend to friend, or so it seemed. The man who opened my screen door and let himself into my home was Lord Fyre, no doubt about it. I couldn’t begin to explain the difference, but different he was.

Again, a man on either side, me emotionally stretched between the two for totally opposite reasons.

Garrett, I wanted to love me, to cherish me—to be my Master; but Lord Fyre I wanted to open me, to share with me the lovely darkness that lurked in his soul, the same darkness that I believed lurked in mine.

“Kneel,” Lord Fyre commanded.

I fell to my knees and placed my cheek on top of his black leather boot without question, not thinking about Garrett, standing only a foot away. My only thought was to please this man, to convince him to train me. Remnants of my tears smeared onto his boot.

“Oh, please,” Jackie whined from the doorway between the parlor and the kitchen. Hearing the sharp click of her stilettos retreating on my hardwood floors, I felt her disapproval, but didn’t know her reasons for disliking Lord Fyre. Though I understood well her frustration with me. She had worked so hard, conspiring with me to help me win Garrett back, and now that I could have him, completely, I still wanted another. She didn’t understand, maybe never would. It made her angry with me.

Lord Fyre ignored her theatrics, demanding, “Who do you belong to?”

I didn’t answer, closing my eyes. In my heart I still belonged to Garrett, but a deep-seated instinct that I was loath to understand insisted I allow myself the experience of Lord Fyre.

“No one,” I answered, it seemed the only safe choice. “Master has released me, you have yet to collar me.”

“And yet here you kneel before me, not him. Kiss my boots before you rise, slave.”

I placed a soft kiss on the top of each boot—black and shiny, smelling faintly of fresh shoe polish. I wondered for a moment who shined his boots with such great care that I could see my reflection in their surface, and would that be my job soon? Standing slowly, I faced him.

“Eyes down.”

I lowered my gaze to the floor, but didn’t drop my face.

“Walk with me,” he commanded, turning and going out onto the porch. I didn’t follow, at least not
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immediately like a good slave would have, instead I looked to Garrett, seeking permission, approval, or some sign that I was or wasn’t making a huge mistake. In answer, he used a nod of his head to nudge me out the door.

Leaving the house, I didn’t find Fyre on the porch.

The sun was blinding bright, the day turned into a brilliant, clear day with a deep blue sky and white puffy clouds. My favorite kind of day. It promised to be hot. For a moment, I was distracted by the sheer beauty surrounding my porch. My massive perennial gardens had come out in full glorious bloom while I was away, hummingbirds ducking in and out of the overhanging wisteria, monarchs flitting amongst the daisies, honey bees a symphony of their own, darting gluttonously from fragrant bloom to fragrant bloom. I dallied, trying to get my bearings on which way he may have gone, without seeming too obvious.

“I’m here,” he called and I walked along the painted wood porch to reach the side stairs leading to the lawn. Joining him, I kept my eyes lowered, stepping back just a little when I saw his hand reach for me.

Reflex. Not ducking, not exactly, but defensive. The reaction was met by a heavy sigh, “Who hurt you?

Who made you lose your trust?” He shook his head. “Not Garrett.”

Then his hand was near my face, not touching, reaching for me in what seemed like slow motion, trying not to spook me, as one trained might approach a new horse, or an unknown dog, but maybe my mind was just having a hard time accepting that he was going to touch me. His fingers were light on my jaw, lifting my face with an easy pressure, forcing my gaze up to his. I directed my gaze away.

“Look at me.” His voice was smooth and easy, but not like warm brandy, more like summer thunder, soft, rolling, non-threatening. Our gazes collided when I finally brought myself to lift my eyes to his and the force of will coming from his was a scary thing that I quickly looked away from a second time.

“Keep your eyes on mine.”

Swallowing, I looked at him and forced myself to keep looking long after my bravado faded. A slow trembling started in my shoulders, uncontrollable. I feared him for no other reason than once he’d kissed me and once he’d entranced me. Both times, in my mind, I thought of him as Lucifer, the great deceiver; but standing before him, I forced myself to remember that he was a man, just a man. His scent came to me on the breeze, exotic, unknown, like incense, frankincense, and myrrh, a hint of cinnamon and warm leather.